Human nature—–­of the American brand, at any rate—–­dearly loves a bonfire.  By dark that evening some two hundred grown-up and several hundred Gridley boys had congregated on the late ball field.

“Touch it off, some one.  There’s no use in waiting any longer,” urged some of the bystanders.  “It’s almost dark.”

“No, no!  Wait!” urged Tom Reade.  “The blaze will be all the finer after dark.”

“Where’s Dick Prescott?” sounded a voice, this being followed by a dinning clamor for the captain of the Centrals.

“Here!” called Dick, when he could make himself heard.

“Pouch it off, Dick!  Let the fun start.  You’re the right one to set the bonfire going.”

“Not I,” Prescott answered.  “There is some one else here who has been appointed to set the blaze going, and who has accepted the job.”

“Then trot him out and let him get busy!” came the urgent demand.

“Wait just a few minutes, fellows.  We want it really dark,” urged Captain Prescott.

At last, when he judged it dark enough, Dick stepped forward, Captain Ted Teall at his side.

“Friends,” Dick explained, “Teall has been good enough to agree to start the blaze tonight.”

“South Grammar fellows this way, please!” called Teall.  “Now, friends, please don’t any of you make any noise until we Souths have a chance to say just a few words.  All ready, South Grammars?  Then three cheers for the Central Grammar School, winners of the school baseball league series.  Let ’em rip out loudly!”

The cheers were given, followed by a tiger.

“Is Hi Martin, captain of the North Grammar nine, here?” called Ted Teall.

But Hi wasn’t, or else he kept his presence very quiet.

“Hi wouldn’t he here,” jeered some one.  “He didn’t win—–­couldn’t win—–­and he’s sore.”

Again Ted called for Hi Martin, though still without success.

“Then I’ll have to light the fire alone,” Ted declared.  “I had hoped that the captains of both of the walloped teams might share the honor.”

Tom Reade and Dave Darrin hastily emptied a five-gallon can of oil on the old boxes and barrels and other pieces of wood.

“All clear?” called Ted.

“All clear,” nodded Tom Reade.

“Then I’ll light the blaze,” shouted Ted.  “This is a lot easier than winning ball games,” he added good-naturedly.

Three or four wind-proof matches Teall struck on a box and tossed into the oil-soaked pile of combustibles.  In a moment the increasing heat of the blaze drove him back several yards.

Higher and higher mounted the red and yellow flames.  Hundreds stood about, their faces fully illumined by the big glow.

“It’s going to be a great one,” Ted called to Dick, as the latter came toward him.

“Finest bonfire I’ve ever seen,” Prescott answered.

“But—–­” began Teall, a puzzled look on his face.  Then—–­sniff! sniff!  “Queer stuff, that!  What a stuffing smoke it makes.  I wonder what it is that burns with such a sharp smell?”